


An Echo of the Past in the Future

by bythunder



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, implied reincarnation??, there are ghosts in winterfell, with references to canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 09:55:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11575674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bythunder/pseuds/bythunder
Summary: Sansa explores the ruins of Winterfell, where she catches a glimpse of a long dead king.





	An Echo of the Past in the Future

Winterfell Castle was haunted. Everyone knows that, even those people who didn’t actually believe in ghosts. A building thousands of years old, had seen thousands of people through its gates, stood through numerous wars, of course it was haunted. Which is why Sansa had never visited the ruins before. That and the fact that the grounds were technically restricted. That never stopped the throngs of teenagers, though, eager to take advantage of an enormous abandoned building to party and get high and hook up without getting caught. Sansa received her fair share of invitations in high school, but she turned them all down. She had little interest in underage drinking and if she were going to engage physically with a date, they could do it in a bed like a normal couple, thank you very much. (Ok, so she made out with Joffrey in the back of his car once, but only once!)

But the castle had been condemned and soon enough the trucks would come and tear it all down and this magnificent piece of history would be gone forever and replaced with —gods forbid— condominiums. That just wasn’t right. Something that’s stood for so long shouldn’t be able to be knocked down so thoughtlessly. Arya had lead the charge against this decision, she petitioned and protested, but the county argued that everything worth value had already been taken away by historians and put in museums. By itself, the building was nothing but a safety hazard and must come down.

With only a few short months left before the demolition, Arya decided to say farewell to the old castle. Unlike Sansa, she went to every single high school party and was well familiar with the location. In fact, she loved the place so much that even when parties weren’t going on, she spent most of her weekends exploring the grounds. One last big bash was the only proper way to say goodbye to the place that had so defined her youth.

Which is the only reason Sansa agreed to step foot in here. In high school, she could always use the excuse that she had to study instead or that parties weren’t her scene, but with Arya hosting Sansa had no excuse anymore. Not unless she wanted to confess to her sister crippling fear of ghosts, and she most definitely did not want to do that. Robb had terrorized them both as children, them and their little brothers. Somehow he always knew the most grizzly ghost stories and the way he held the flashlight under his chin mutated his face into something nearly demonic. Arya grew out of being scared by Robb before she hit puberty but his stories about murderers and cannibals rising from the grave still gave Sansa the spooks.

Sansa sighed with a shaky breath and buttoned up her jacket further. It might be spring, but it was early yet, and colder in the shadow of the remains of the castle’s curtain walls. That wouldn’t stop Arya or her friends. In fact, there goes Gendry now, hauling an armful of logs for a bonfire. Arya was messing with the speakers in the back of his truck and Hot Pie was on a booze run at the liquor store down the road. At least it was still daylight out, Sansa comforted herself. Ghosts don’t come out in the day. _Ghosts aren’t real, stupid_ , she could hear Arya tease her if she ever found out that Sansa still held on to her irrational fear.

The castle was pretty though, in the way that old castles always are. If she overlooked the penises graffitied on the stones, Sansa could easily imagine the kings who held court in this Great Hall or the princesses standing on the parapets as they watched the horizons for their lovers’ to return. She hadn’t meant to go exploring, not really. Arya dragged her along to help set up before her guests arrived, but as soon as they got here, Sansa only seemed to be in the way. Besides, with Hot Pie and Gendry here, she wasn’t really needed anyway. And seeing as this was likely to be her only chance to see Winterfell in its dying glory, Sansa decided to take advantage.

First, the Great Hall. The roof had burned away years ago and the stained glass windows were mostly smashed in, but the size was still stunning. It would take hundreds of people to fill the space. As Sansa stood where the Throne of Winter once sat, silently counting the number of fireplaces set into the walls, she could almost hear music playing, some bard paid to entertain the lords as they feasted. Sansa stopped her count. Wait, that isn’t right… She _could_ hear the music playing. The plucky strings of a lyre, the steady beat of a drum, someone playing the pipes overtop it all. A chill ran down her spine. Winterfell is haunted! There was a harsh rumble then the music was everywhere, pounding in her ears and –

“ **YOU GIVE LOVE A BAD NAME, BAD NAME!** ”

There was no way ghosts knew Bon Jovi. Arya’s stupid speakers! Sansa put a hand over her heart, felt the rapid fluttering as her sister’s music nearly scared the life out of her. For a minute there, she really thought she was hearing the music of centuries long past. She couldn’t help but laugh at herself, that was silly. Ghost musicians, right, as if they have nothing better to do then play Arya’s gig. Still, Sansa no longer wanted to stay in the hall alone and maybe just a little ran out into the yard.

“Sansa, you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Gendry asked when he saw her bolt past the doorframe. Oh, he was trying to be sweet, but that was the exact wrong thing to say right now.

Arya just sniggered from his truck bed where she was adjusting her playlist now that the speakers were operational.  “Sansa always looks that pale. I don’t know how you can tell the difference.”

“You could’ve given me a head’s up that you were about the break the sound barrier with those speakers!” Sansa shouted. Arguing with Arya was easier than admitting that she’d actually been scared. “I thought what’s left of the walls were about to cave in on me!”

“Oh, please, Sansa. That was only half-volume.”

“It gets louder?”

“All the way up to eleven, baby!” Arya said and dramatically turned a dial to it’s maximum setting. Gendry reached across the truck bed to turn it back down. Arya muttered a “dude, c’mon,” as she kicked at his wrist. Gendry responded by grabbing her leg and pulling her over his shoulders. Arya laughed as she beat her fists against his back. “Noo, Gendry, put me down!”

“The music won’t be that loud all night, Sansa, don’t worry.” Gendry dropped Arya on her feet.

Sansa turned away as they started playfighting in that way they do. Even though Gendry was twice her size, Arya had surprising strength and agility and just loved to show off how she could manage to pin Gendry to the ground in three seconds flat. Sansa always suspected that Gendry let her do it to him, though he’d never let Arya know it, it was all part of their weird little flirty game. Sansa didn’t understand it, but it made Arya happy, so who was she to judge? When she heard the thud of Gendry hitting the ground, Sansa decided it may be better to give the not-a-couple some privacy.

Some of the buildings had crumbled away entirely and others were too unsafe to enter anymore, but there was still plenty to explore. Sansa wandered through the sept, one of the oldest in the North, built by some lord or other to appease his Southron lady. Nothing remained to say for sure that this had ever been a sept, the icons of the Gods had been taken away and donated to some sept still in use, except for the shape of the building itself. Even in modern architecture, the sanctuaries were always built seven-sided, no matter how awkward the shape. As Sansa stepped out of the godless shell, something strange caught her eye. A flash of white galloped across the yard from behind the Great Keep, moving towards the Godswood. At first glance, it appeared to be a large white horse but upon closer inspection, the movements were more lupine than equine. But that was impossible, wolves don’t grow to be that size! This castle was playing tricks on her. Sansa had taken history class like everyone else, she knew that Winterfell belonged to Stark kings like a million years ago and their sigil had been the direwolf. Legends even tell of a king who rode one into battle as he sought vengeance for his murdered father. But direwolves went extinct a long time ago. Sansa rubbed at her eyes to erase the image. It was just being here that was getting to her. Between the pages of a book was one thing, actually standing here where the history happened, it was doing funny things to her head. Making her see things like direwolves running around. Gods, she sounded completely insane.

_“Sansa!”_

“Be right there!” Sansa took another look at where the direwolf had gone, except there wasn’t a direwolf, there never had been a direwolf, Sansa, stop it, you’re psyching yourself out. But as she turned to head back to the truck, she could almost swear she felt eyes on her.

“What did you guys need?” Sansa asked as she returned to the group. Hot Pie had returned with Lommy in tow and a trunk full of beer and wine coolers and a couple bottles of harder liquors hidden towards the back. Arya must’ve won the wrestling match against Gendry because the back of his t-shirt was grass-stained and muddy, not that Arya’s clothes were any cleaner.

Arya gave her a funny look. “We don’t need anything.”

“Didn’t you call me?” Sansa asked, looking to Gendry. It had sounded like a male voice after all. But… if she heard Gendry’s shout from all that way, surely Arya would’ve heard it right next to him. That creepy feeling came back, like someone had dropped an ice cube down the back of her shirt and she couldn’t stop the involuntary shudder.

“Maybe it was a ghost,” Arya snorted. She waggled her fingers at Sansa and made a cartoonish moaning sound. “Spirits from _beyooond the graaave. OoooOooo.”_

Sansa’s annoyance outweighed her chills and she slapped Arya’s hands away. “That’s not funny.”

Lommy, who never knew how to read the room, butt in, “You know this place actually is haunted, right?”

“Yes, I did know that, thank you, Lommy,” Sansa said stiffly as she glowered  in his direction. Really, he was Sansa's least favorite of Arya’s friends. She could never tell if he was trying to be a jerk or if he was just oblivious, but there he goes again, still talking.

“Yeah, y’know the story of the Bastard Lord? The cannibal? They say he flayed men alive and made boots out of their skins. And he’d take women and—”

He was cut off by a thwack to the back of the head, curtesy of Arya. Arya would always give Sansa a hard time for being too squeamish, she’s still never seen a single horror movie all the way to the end, but it was nice to know that her sister had her back before Sansa fainted dead away in front of all her friends. Not that Sansa cared too much what Lommy Greenhands thought of her, but it still would’ve been embarrassing.

“There’s nothing to be scared of, Sans,” Arya said in a undertone, words of reassurance only intended for her sister. “The way the walls fell makes the wind do some weird things sometimes, that’s all.”

“But—” Sansa considered for a moment telling Arya about the wolf. The wind could make her hear things that weren’t there, but it couldn’t make her see things. Arya was already being understanding about her one little spook when she could have easily kept up her teasing. Maybe she would believe her, but Sansa wasn’t exactly sure she believed herself.

“Come on, let’s get more wood for the fire. I heard that weirwood logs burn red.” Arya grabbed Sansa by the arm and dragged her away to the woods before she could protest, not that she was about to. She didn’t want to risk sticking around in case Lommy decided to finish his gruesome history lesson.

The Godswood felt colder than the rest of the castle. She had been chilly before but now Sansa was downright freezing. The denim of her jacket provided little insulation against the rapidly dropping temperatures. Her breath coming out in little puffs before her and she could feel the goosebumps rising all over her body. The farther into the woods they got, the colder it got until Sansa started seeing snowflakes falling out of the corner of her eye.

“Gods, Arya, how are you not freezing? –Arya?” Sansa whipped around. Arya had been right in front of her a minute ago, Sansa only looked away for a moment to look at the snow. But Arya was gone, completely vanished. “Arya!” This isn’t funny. Sansa listened carefully for any sounds of another person in the woods, the loud stomp of Arya’s boots or the cracking of twigs underfoot, but there was nothing save the rustling breeze. Even the bird sounds were gone, except for the occasional caw of a raven. Meanwhile the snow kept coming down, already covering the ground in a thick white powder.

With the toes of her sneakers soaked through, Sansa decided she’d had enough. Getting ditched in the woods was the last straw. Arya begged Sansa to come with her and now it was clear why; once last chance to prank her gullible sister. She probably planned this all from the beginning, get Sansa to come to the creepy castle, have her idiot friend tell ghost stories to get her good and worked up, then abandon her in a haunted forest. Ugh, she was insufferable.

Sansa was halfway out of the woods, passing under that ancient weirwood with its hideous carved face when she heard that voice again. _“Sansa.”_ Except it was close this time, right behind her. And there was no confusing it for Gendry’s rumbling bass, this wasn’t a voice she recognized. Fear rooted her to the spot, but curiosity made her turn to look.

And the source of the voice was nothing like what she expected to see. The man was dressed like a historical reenactor, bundled up in a leather doublet with a fur-lined cloak draped over his broad shoulders. But something about the way he carried himself, the ease with which he wore those clothes made Sansa think he was more than just some costumed history buff. Belted around his hips, he wore a sword where he rested his left hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world. His long, dark hair was pulled away from his solemn face. He had kind eyes though, they crinkled softly as he smiled at her and held out a gloved hand. _“I’ve been looking for you, love.”_

 _Love_. _Why is this stranger calling me ‘love’?_ And why does she want to take that proffered hand? Her own hand raises an inch before she catches herself. “W-who are you? Are you here for Arya’s party?” It had to be one of Arya’s weirdo friends, it was the only thing that made sense. _That or he’s a ghost_.

The man laughed, not a malicious sound, but amused. _“Come now. The lords are waiting for us. Though Gods know I’d rather stay here with you.”_ The snow crunched beneath his heavy boots as he stepped towards her. The look in his eyes changed, they were darker now, more heated. Desirous. Sansa felt her cheeks flush, warm against the chill of the air. Another step and he was close enough to touch. He could’ve grabbed her but he didn’t, just held his hand out in invitation. Waiting for her consent, she realized. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Sansa looked into his dark eyes, a beautiful stormy gray, and she wanted nothing more than to give in to him. She lifted her hand from her side, he nodded, and –

“Sansa?”

In the blink of an eye, the scene was gone. The man in the furs, the wolf standing behind him, even the snow at her feet, it was all gone.

“Sansa, are you alright?” Arya asked.

“–You didn’t see him?”

“See who?”

“The man, he was standing right there. The—” Sansa didn’t know where she got this idea but as soon as she said the word, she knew it was right. “The King.”

Instead of laughing as Sansa expected, Arya gripped Sansa’s shoulder to fix her with a serious look. “Who did you see, which spirit?”

“I- I don’t know. He was about so tall,” Sansa held up her hand to illustrate. “His eyes were gray and dark… and there was a white wolf.”

“I haven’t seen him before…” Arya muttered under her breath.

“Wait, you’ve seen the ghosts? You believe in ghosts?” Sansa was shocked. She was so sure that Arya was a hardcore skeptic. Not more than fifteen minutes ago, Arya had both been teasing her about hearing voices and assuring her that there was nothing to fear.

“Of course I believe in them. I practically lived here in high school. I’ve seen hundreds of spirits in these walls. That’s why I wanted to save this place, Sansa. I don’t know what’s going to happen to them all when they tear it down…”

“But I thought… What about all the parties, the graffiti? If you believe in the ghosts, shouldn’t you show some respect?”

“I think they like the parties. At least, I always see more spirits when there are more living people around. This place was built for hundreds of people to live here. I think it’s energizing to them. Winterfell misses its people.”

“That’s…” ridiculous, Sansa wanted to say, but she said instead, “…sweet.”

“I don’t know your ghost, but I know how we can find out who he was.”

Arya lead Sansa out of the woods and back to the rest of the group. While they’d been away, more people came by, a few more of Arya’s friends, a couple of people Sansa recognized from high school, even kids from the Neck had come to check it out. But Arya didn’t stop to say even so much as hello to any of them. Instead, she crossed the yard, opened up the cab of Gendry’s truck and pulled out a pair of flashlights. Passing one to Sansa, the two crossed the yard again, beyond the Keep, past the armory, until Arya stopped in front of a heavy ironwood door set into the wall. That’s odd, Sansa thought, but it almost looked as if that door was new… And compounding to the mystery, Arya pulled a key out of her shorts and unlocked the door, which opened to reveal a stairway going deep into the ground.

Arya clicked on her flashlight. “Let’s go.”

“What is this place?” Sansa asked as she flashed her own light down the stairs. The passage was so long that the beam of light didn’t reach the end, the daunting darkness seemed to swallow all the light it was offered.

“The crypts. Don’t get scared on me now, it’s totally safe. C’mon.” Without waiting to see if she would follow, Arya started charging down the stairs. Sansa hesitated briefly, but she had to know who he was, there was no doubt that she’d follow Arya into the dark.

The stairs seemed endless. Every so often, a hall off to the side would open up, lined with hundreds of statues, marking the graves of Starks long since put to rest. Sansa resolved to be brave, but this didn’t feel like a place where the living were welcome. After they passed the fifth of these hallways, how far underground were they, Arya stopped and shined her light on the stone figures. “I think this is the one we want.”

“How can you tell?” All the graves looked the same to her, a man carved in marble, seated with a sword across his lap, a stone direwolf holding vigil at his side. Starks kings and Stark lords, Stark, Stark, Stark.

“Because this guy,” Arya paused before one particular sculpture, “has a white wolf.”

The beam of her flashlight fell on the wolf and Sansa saw she was right. All of the other wolves had been carved out of the same dark stone as their masters, but this one alone had been made from a shimmering pale alabaster. “Why is this one different?”

“Dunno,” Arya said with a shrug. She aimed her flashlight at the plinth under the stone throne and tried to read the words carved there.

Meanwhile, Sansa turned her attention from the wolf to the king. It was old and eroded but she could still the lines of his face, echoes of the man she saw in the Godswood. His strong jaw and heavy brow, even the curl of his hair. But the lifeless stone didn’t capture any of the warmth Sansa had seen in his expression.

“King Jon Snow, The White Wolf, reigned from… I can’t read the dates.”

“Snow? That can’t be right. That’s a bastard name, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Why would a bastard be a king?”

“I’m not sure.”

Sansa stared at the face again, almost willing him to come alive and tell her his story. But he was only cold marble, his face stoic and expressionless. It was terribly sad, Sansa thought. He had such a lovely smile. And no one will ever know. She didn’t even realize she started crying until Arya offered a wadded-up tissue from her back pocket. “I’m sorry,” she said through a sniff. “I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

Arya put an arm around Sansa’s waist. “It’s okay. With all the different energies in this place, sometimes you get caught up in emotions that aren’t even really yours. It happens.”

Sansa nodded in understanding, not trusting herself to speak. This was all just so overwhelming. A minute ago, he was standing before her, alive and beautiful, and now he was dead and buried for a thousand years? It didn’t seem possible, it wasn’t _fair,_ how could the Gods be so cruel as to take him from her?

Sansa stopped her sniffling at that. Where did that thought come from? Certainly not from her, she never had him, he’d been dead for generations before she was even born, the Gods didn’t take him away. But in that moment, the feeling of loss had been so _intense_ , like all the light in her life had been snuffed out in a single instant. Whoever those emotions belonged to, they sure loved him, this bastard king. “Let’s get out of here, Arya. This is a little too much for me.”

Arya agreed and together they climbed the stairs back into the real world. The sun was dipping low on the horizon and the party was starting in earnest. Even from the other side of the grounds, they could feel the thump of the bass reverberating around the castle, bouncing off the walls and making everything vibrate to the rhythm. “The ghosts will be active tonight,” Arya said with a grin. “Let’s get them so charged up they’ll be haunting the construction crew for months!”

This morning, that idea would’ve sounded horrific to Sansa, encouraging the spirits of the dead, trying to spur ghosts into action. But it only took a couple hours in Winterfell’s haunted grounds, and Sansa could see why Arya was so drawn to it. If the rest of the specters were half a lively as her King Jon had been, then it wasn’t right to tear down these walls. This was their home, this was where they lived, as much as ghosts lived at all. It’s called an afterlife for a reason, right? Some corner of her mind said this was all still crazy, some wild delusion, but Sansa couldn’t deny what she saw, the things she felt.

As the night continued, the party grew wilder. As the party grew wilder, the more unnatural things seemed to happen. Arya’s theory about energizing the castle seemed to be true. Beneath the thrum of the crowd, Sansa could occasionally catch the sound of clashing swords. It was dark and the flames from the bonfire were casting eerie shadows across the ramparts, but those dark shapes walking along the wall moved like human beings. Fingers pulled through her hair, even when there was no one close enough to touch her. But none of that scared her anymore, not when she could feel the protective weight of King Jon’s gaze on her, even if he reminded hidden from her sight.

Sansa carried the memory of her vision with her. On the drive home, she could’ve sworn the direwolf ran along side her car, keeping pace with her until the passed beyond the property line where he vanished into the night. When she closed her eyes to go to sleep, she dreamed of the King, his heated gaze and all the ways he kept his lady warm through the winter.

Arya came over the day the broke ground on Winterfell. She was in a black rage but Sansa only felt like weeping as they sat together on her old sofa and watched the news coverage. Walls that had withstood assaults from siege towers and trebuchets, walls that protected its people from the darkest horrors in the night, walls that refused to crumble under dragonfire… They were no match for a few overweight men in neon vests who came at them with a wrecking ball.

 

* * *

 

It took two years to complete the Winterfell Tower Condominiums. Thirty stories tall, towering over the Wintertown skyline, it was the absolute peak of artistic architectural design. Arya still couldn’t forgive the city for tearing down Winterfell and she spat curses every time she drove past the building, but Sansa couldn’t help her curiosity. When she saw a posting online advertising an Open House the following afternoon, Sansa called in sick to work to make sure she could go see it.

The apartments weren’t much, to be honest. Nice, sure, and the pricier ones could make decent homes someday, but that wasn’t where Sansa’s interest lay. She was more intrigued by the little ways the architect had upheld the history he’d been building over. Flagstones from the castle had been used to pave the floor of the lobby, the reception desk was carved out of the old weirwood tree, they even piped in hot water from the natural springs to fill the pool. By the entrance, a local historian had written up a plaque which commemorated the castle which had stood in this very spot for millennia. It was a touching tribute, even if it was the bare minimum they could do.

It was as she was skimming the sign that she saw him across the way. For half a heartbeat, Sansa thought it was the ghosts again, but no, he was different this time. He wasn’t wearing furs now but a smart blue suit. He wore his hair shorter too, which only made sense, it wasn’t fashionable for men of this era to wear their hair so long. But as he caught her gaze, she saw his eyes were the same, still soulful and deep, could still bring a flush to her cheeks with a single look. And he even had his white wolf at his side, though clearly not a direwolf in this lifetime, but an enormous shaggy malamute. “Jon Snow!”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Have we met?”


End file.
